


All That Glitters

by hellosleepdeprivation



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jack Needs Sleep, M/M, Pre-Slash, Set during year two, Sleep Deprivation, before they get their shit together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosleepdeprivation/pseuds/hellosleepdeprivation
Summary: This is based off a prompt from shitty-check-please-aus, go check out their tumblr.Prompt: Jack wrote his senior thesis in sparkly crayonJack tries to finish his senior thesis, and he's not having a great time.





	All That Glitters

Jack is trying to finish his thesis and he is straight up Not Having a Good Time. He is so close, but what even is a conclusion. He doesn’t know why he chose to be a history major, when everyone and everything is so confusing and there’s so much that you need to memorize and no one ever gets along with each other and what is he even going to do with a history degree anyway? He’s a hockey player, he’s signed with the Providence Falconers! That is, if the Falcs still want him. They can’t just void his contract, can they?  
He knows he’s working himself into a panic attack, and he tries to ground himself. The laptop screen. Breathe. The tree in front of the Haus. The sound of Bittle singing in the kitchen. The smell of one maple apple pie that had no business anywhere near Jack’s meal plan. Exactly five rolls of white stick tape. Another breath. Two rolls of black. One roll of red. One roll of Falconers blue that Bittle had bought for him when he signed. One sparkly blue crayon that had hit him square in the forehead. Bittle had laughed. Just keep breathing.  
Once he was suitably calm, he continued writing, only slightly less productive than before. Yet his eyes kept going back to the blue crayon sitting innocuously on his desk. No, he tells himself. That’s stupid he says, but even as he prints his thesis out, all he can really look at is that damn crayon.  
He looks down at his final thesis for Samwell University. Then he curses. In his distraction, he had forgotten to label the page numbers. He really doesn’t want to have to waste the paper on reprinting. He can just write them in, just as long as they’re there when he turns it in. He fumbles around for a pen, but can’t seem to find one in the disaster his desk has become. His eyes land once again on the crayon. Then he thinks, fuck it. Why not? He’s almost gone anyway, and his professor likes him. He writes them in with the crayon. He looks down at his handiwork. It looks dumb, he thinks, but it gives him an odd feeling in his chest, like Bittle was there with him writing the paper, and wow is that something to dissect, but he is too tired to now.  
He’s still missing something, and once he realizes that it’s the cover page, he quickly creates it with the crayon. It still looks dumb and kind of childish, but now the feeling in his chest is stronger. He’ll keep it. What are they really going to do to him?  
They can take points off, or make him redo it, or throw it away entirely is what they can do, he thinks. He really ought to reprint it with proper page numbers and cover page, but he doesn’t think he will.  
He was so deep into his thoughts, he didn’t notice the knock at his door. He didn’t notice Bittle standing there with two slices of hot maple apple pie in his hands. He hands Jack a plate and a fork.  
“I thought you mighta’ been hungry, working on your thesis an’ all. It’s maple apple.” Bittle looks sheepish, and smaller than he normally does, like he’s sort of hunched in on himself. Jack takes a bite, and is quickly reminded why he doesn’t eat Bittle’s pie often. Eric Bittle’s pie is an addictive substance. As soon as he takes a bite, he doesn’t really want to stop, nor does he think he could. He realizes just how hungry he really is. Tabarnak, when was the last time he had eaten?  
The pie is warm and the crust is flaky, and he can taste the sweetness of maple in the filling. Very quickly, the plate is empty. It’s his turn to look sheepish, glancing up at Bittle’s face, only to find him looking back at him, fork poised halfway up to his mouth. He laughs, a sweet little chuckle that makes Jacks chest tighten just a bit.  
“I guess you were hungry.” He almost looks shocked, but he’s still smiling wide.  
“Sorry,” Jack mumbles, “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve eaten”  
“Oh no, it’s fine honey, that’s why I’m up here.” he looks at Jack’s desk, where the thesis and the crayon are sitting. “Is that it?” he asks, gesturing to it. “I like the crayon, nice touch.” The smile on his face slides into a smirk. He’s really attractive like this, a light in his eyes, a confident set in his shoulders, no traces of the shyness from a few moments earlier.  
Then he realizes he’s staring. “What, euh, yeah, it is.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t print out my cover page, and I forgot to add page numbers but I didn’t want to waste another forty pages, and--”  
“No, gosh Jack, it’s fine, really. I kind of like it.” Bittle interrupts his nervous ramble. “Y’know, I’m proud of you.”  
Wow. That was a rush. His parents and coaches and teachers had always told him he’d done well, but no one ever says they’re proud of him. There’s always an expectation that he should be better, play better. He’s quickly realizing that there’s a difference between the two. He thinks he likes the way the words curl around in Bittle’s mouth. Maybe likes it a bit too much, but that’s a thought for a Jack that isn’t running on an unhealthy amount of caffeine and a dangerous lack of sleep. His head spins, and he slumps forward in his chair, suddenly feeling exhausted.  
“Oh honey, you must be tired huh?” Bittle moves to take Jack’s fork and plate from him. He had honestly forgotten he was holding them. He’s hauled up from the chair and moved towards his bed. He immediately falls into it, the cheap mattress and month-old sheets honestly feeling like only the best thing he’s ever experienced. He feels himself being maneuvered into a more comfortable position. Bittle pulls the covers over his shoulders, and he feels them pressed in around him.  
“Go to sleep honey, you deserve it.” The warmth of the bed starts to mix with the warmth in his chest, and he starts to drift off, happy and warm and just a little bit on top of the world. He’s asleep before he can hear Bittle click his door closed.


End file.
